


you are my sweetest downfall (i loved you first)

by starchilding



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being an Idiot, M/M, Mage Jaskier | Dandelion, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Post-Season/Series 01 Finale, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22226920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starchilding/pseuds/starchilding
Summary: Quickly, as if he's been slapped, Jaskier reels back. At that moment, his heart begins to break into a million pieces. The raging under his skin stops. For a moment, his mind is elsewhere and in one place at the same time. For the first time in his life, his mind is only thinking of one thing. Geralt. Geralt. Geralt.Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. The Butcher of Blaviken.Cruel. Unfeeling. Monster.Jaskier knew the risks. Jaskier knew what he was getting into. Now, he's paying the price.Forgetting, for a moment, the power of a bard's words (a bard's blessing), Jaskier speaks."Fine. I will get the rest of your story from others. You get your blessing, Witcher. You will never see me again."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 78
Kudos: 967
Collections: witcher





	1. prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! The Witcher really fucked me up, which is wild cause I never wanted to watch it in the first place. Also, I know nothing about it beyond what I watched on Netflix. This sort of still canon in a way that I took the ending of 1x06 and changed everything else. Thank you and uh, have fun. English isn't my first language so feel free to constructively correct my grammar and sentence structures.

The sun was just beginning to set when Jaskier felt Geralt sit beside him.

Ignoring his presence, he continues to look at the sun setting over the mountains. The wind whips against his face. It had been a long and tiring day and for once in his life he preferred to remain silent.

In tune to the elements and the surrounding nature, Jaskier can feel, underneath his skin, the thrums of magic, aching and begging to be released. He clenches his fists. He bites his cheek.

 _Keep it hidden, Jaskier._ His mother’s voice echoes inside his mind. _Keep your gift to yourself, my child, and you will always be safe._

They sit, side by side in silence. Jaskier can hear Geralt’s heavy breathing, and if he concentrates, he thinks he can almost hear the thoughts running inside Geralt’s mind. The Witcher’s face continue to betray no emotion, but Jaskier knows his soul is heavy.

 _A heavy soul recognizes another heavy soul, and they carry the burden together,_ he whispers in his mind, a brief memory of the books in Oxenfurt slipping through the cracks of what he’s buried a long, long time ago. He indulges the memory, surprised at how much it comforts him. Oxenfurt feels like a lifetime ago now; he’s certainly lived many lives from that point on. Julian the Mage, Szymon the Professor, Aleksander the Blacksmith, Jan the Barkeep. Now, he’s Jaskier the Bard.

_“When I finally leave this place, I’ll be settling at the first coast I find. Live the rest of my days near the sea.”_

_“Be careful, Julian. Spoken dreams have the danger of not coming true.”_

_“Well, this dream will defy that._ ”

A laugh bubbles from his lips, breaking the silence and startling the man sitting beside him.

Geralt sighs. "What's got you laughing, bard?"

Jaskier lets a small smile slip through. "Nothing, just an old memory."

Geralt hums his response, and they go back to sitting in silence. The thoughts of the coast stay in Jaskier's mind. He imagines, for a while, what life would be like had he stayed in Oxenfurt to finish his studies. Had he not disappeared when his home was burned to the ground. Had he listened to his friend when he said spoken dreams will never come true.

He thinks of the coast. Then, he thinks of Geralt beside him.

"We could head to the coast," Jaskier finds himself whispering, softly, as if trying not to startle the man, "get away for a while."

For a moment, Geralt doesn't say anything. Jaskier begins to doubt that he even heard him when,

"Writing your next song?" Geralt says at last.

 _Just thinking about a life with you._ He wants to say. He struggles to formulate a response that would hide his feelings, eventually saying "No, just thinking about what pleases me."

"Hmm." Geralt replies.

It wasn't until it is fully dark and the stars are shining in the night sky that Geralt finally leaves his side. To his surprise, Geralt drops a hand on top of his head, a gesture that confused him greatly. Geralt wasn't known for physical gestures. The man is a stoic mass of grunts and avoidance.

"Give your head a rest, bard" he says, "no use in thinking about things that won't happen."

So he doesn't plan on retiring then. Jaskier files in his mind. Despite the anxiety that's beginning to curl in the pit of his stomach, Jaskier relieves Geralt with a small smile. He lets him go.

He should have seen the signs.

The next morning was a disaster, to put it mildly.

“The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.” Geralt roars in anger.

The powers inside Jaskier urge him to lash out. Telling him to scream back, hurt Geralt the same way he's hurting him. To return the pain tenfold. Leave the bastard writhing, his soul screams. Almost, as if on instinct, he opens his mouth, a spell beginning to form in his tongue.

Instead, he says "You don't mean that."

But Geralt's anger knows no bounds. "I mean it, bard. You were not wanted in the first place. Everything that has gone to fucking shit is because of you. You ruin everything you touch."

Quickly, as if he's been slapped, Jaskier reels back. At that moment, his heart breaks into a million pieces. The raging under his skin stops. For a moment, his mind is elsewhere and in one place at the same time. For the first time in his life, his mind is only thinking of one thing. Geralt. Geralt. Geralt.

Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. The Butcher of Blaviken.

Cruel. Unfeeling. Monster.

Jaskier knew the risks. Jaskier knew what he was getting into. Now, he's paying the price.

Forgetting, for a moment, the power of a bard's words (a bard's _blessing_ ), Jaskier speaks.

"Fine. I will get the rest of your story from others. You get your _blessing_ , Witcher. You will never see me again." Jaskier speaks softly, the pain in his voice evident. Geralt turns around. He's said his peace, there was nothing else left.

Jaskier turns around and walks away. Tears blur his vision, and every step feels heavier than the last. Even then, he doesn't look back.

\--------

_(Somewhere, in a place beyond what is real and what is not, Destiny sighs, her hands begin to weave another thread.)_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What I want,” the woman says “is for you to find your bard, Geralt. Find him, and have your peace. Gods know I lost my chance with mine.”
> 
> “I don’t think Destiny plans for us to be together, anyway.” Geralt sips his ale. “I am a Witcher, he is merely human. He’s a fragile thing, that Jaskier. Humans often are.”
> 
> The woman stands, leaves a coin on the table, and then fixes her skirt. “You’ve searched for him for three years to no avail, Witcher. Now, you finally know where he might be. I think Destiny brought me to you tonight. Don’t you?” She takes her leave, but not before touching Geralt’s shoulder as a parting comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided that this is WAAAAY too long for two chapters. this will now be a five chapter fic. part three shall be posted tomorrow. again, constructive criticism is welcome and english is not my first language.

The inn rejoices as Geralt places the severed head of the Drowner against the bar top. The barmaids coo at him, patting his wet hair with towels. The men grunt their approval before going back to downing their drinks. The rest of the villagers look at him in wary reverence. It’s a typical mission, a typical job, a typical contract. The only thing left is—

_ Toss a coin to your Witcher _

_ O’ Valley of Plenty _

_ O’ Valley of Plenty _

\--the drunk singing. Of course. That goddamn song.

He sits in the bar and orders ale. His mind enters forbidden territory. The lute on his back feels a thousand times heavier than it usually is. 

_ “If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.” _

It was unfair, Geralt knew. But the anger had been so great and at the time, Jaskier was an easy target. The moment Yennefer walked away, the memories of all his misfortune came forward and somehow he got reminded that Jaskier was with him in all of it. 

What surprised him the most is the fact that Jaskier  _left_.  A decade of being together; a decade of saying and doing all kinds of wrong to Jaskier, and that momentary burst of anger was what made him leave.

 _“You get your blessing, Witcher.” _ He had said before he turned around and walked away for good. Out of Geralt’s life. Out of his story.

When the anger had passed and he was able to think clearly again, Geralt felt a weight settle in his chest. An apology began to form in his mouth, but when he looked back, Jaskier was already gone. He thought, suddenly, that he might be able to catch up with Jaskier at the trail. He couldn’t have gone far. He had mounted Roach, and went to search for Jaskier.

His lute was at the bottom of the mountain. The bard was nowhere to be found. 

At first, a cold feeling of dread had settled in Geralt’s stomach.  _ This is it. This is what being in close proximity to me has done. He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone.  _ Except, the lute looked as if it was placed there gently, waiting for its owner to return. The soil showed no sign of a scuffle. The environment showed no signs of struggle. The lute simply laid there, as if Jaskier just decided not to carry it anymore.

Geralt had set camp at the bottom of the mountain.  _ He’ll come back for this,  _ he had thought,  _ he never leaves without his lute. _

Daybreak arrives. Jaskier never came back.

Geralt had considered leaving it there, in the hopes that Jaskier might come to his senses and retrieve it, or at the very least have someone get it for him. In the end, he opted to bring it with him, hoping that he might run into the bard someday and he’d be able to give it back and apologize for his cruel words. 

Three years later and it was like Jaskier had simply vanished.

Geralt heard no word of the bard’s whereabouts. It was as if he had walked into a portal and disappeared. He had travelled from inn to inn. Village to village. The villagers knew of him, knew of his songs. They’d sing it day and night, but if you ask them if they knew where the bard was they’d just shrug and say they don’t know.

If Jaskier was hiding from him then he was doing a very good job of doing so. No new songs about the White Wolf ever came into being again. No more new stories were to be hear about the adventures of one Geralt of Rivia. If Jaskier aimed to keep a low profile to avoid crossing paths with Geralt then he was, to Geralt's annoyance, succeeding.

It frustrated and scared Geralt to no end. He knew Jaskier had no family looking for him, hence the bard being able to travel for long periods of time without worry. He didn’t know if Jaskier had friends. Beyond the Countess de Stael, he never knew of anyone who Jaskier might be in contact with. He remembers the cruel words he spoke;  _life’s blessing_ he had said. 

And it wasn’t just him who had a part in that argument. Jaskier had replied to him. Jaskier had said that he would get his blessing. And receive his blessing he did. Life took Jaskier away from him, but it was him who drove him away in the first place.

He’s brought back to the present by a person clearing their throat beside him. He turns his head slightly. It was the woman who had posted the contract for the Drowner. She throws a purse towards his direction.

“I’ve already been paid.” He grunts. “I don’t need any more.”

The woman smiles softly, “that’s not money, Witcher.”

Curious, Geralt lifts the pouch from the table. What he sees inside makes his blood run cold.

“Where did you get this, woman.” He turns his gaze to her. His eyes glower, and the room begins to descend in silence. His voice rises over the uneasy chatter. “This belongs to a friend of mine who as far as I can remember has not been seen or heard from in years. Speak.” He can feel the fear from the patrons of the bar. The music abruptly stops. He turns to glare at the band, urging them to continue their singing.

The woman does not even flinch as she sits beside him. She motions for the barkeep to refill Geralt’s glass. Geralt’s eyes flicker back to the crest inside the pouch. It was a golden little thing, just the size of a coin. The laurel leaves form a circle, the silhouette of a lark lay between them.  _Jaskier’s crest. This belongs—belonged—to Jaskier._

“I don’t know how else to repay you, Geralt.” The woman begins. “You don’t care much for coin, especially when a poor community offers it. I had no idea what to give you as a token for the good you have done.”

Geralt hums his response, his eyes still glued to the crest. He remembers camp, where the crest would glisten against the light of the dying fire. He remembers staring at it, often wondering where Jaskier would get it from. 

“My husband,” she says. “My husband died from those monsters. Had a fight with him. Took my anger out on him. Told him to leave and never come back. He had stormed off.” Tears begin to glisten in the woman’s eyes. “It was raining, so hard. I had sat by the window. I didn’t sleep. I waited for him to come home.”

She swallows a sob. “The next morning, he was dead. Was drowned, his drinking friends said. All I remember was collapsing.”

Geralt finally lifts his gaze from the crest in his hand. “Is there a point to this? Where did you get this crest?” He says as kindly as possible.

“When I heard that you were looking for a bard, I asked one of my friends who happened to come across several bards in his travels. He ran to his room, gave the crest to me. Told me about a bard singing about the White Wolf.”

“And how sure were you that it was my—Jaskier. That it was Jaskier?” He asks.

“They had a brief conversation. My friend had asked him about the accuracy of his songs. He had said that travelling with the White Wolf had paid off. We only know of one bard who was brave enough to travel with you.”

Geralt swallows against the lump in his throat. “And how did he get the crest?”

The woman sighs, “Bard gave it to him. Told him to keep it for good luck.”

“And when did this exchange happen?”

“Just a few moons ago, a few towns south. He’s forgotten the name, but he said it was a fortnight from here.”

Geralt closes his eyes, “How can I repay you for your kindness?” He clutches the crest tighter. For a moment, he thinks that if he wishes hard enough then Jaskier would simply appear beside him and everything would be fine, just like it used to be.

The woman simply smiles at him. “I have long thought about the night that my husband left me. I had wondered, what if I had done things differently. What if he never left? What if I never told him to leave? Perhaps he’d be here, beside me. Perhaps the call for a Witcher would only be because the Drowner has become a nuisance and not because it has taken my husband’s life.”

Geralt looks at her properly for the first time since their conversation began. She looks young, perhaps a little over thirty.  _ Too young to be a widow,  _ he thinks. _But old enough_ _ to know not to expect anything but pain from the world.  _

“What I want,” the woman says “is for you to find your bard, Geralt. Find him, and have your peace. Gods know I lost my chance with mine.”

“I don’t think Destiny plans for us to be together, anyway.” Geralt sips his ale. “I am a Witcher, he is merely human. He’s a fragile thing, that Jaskier. Humans often are.”

The woman stands, leaves a coin on the table, and then fixes her skirt. “You’ve searched for him for three years to no avail, Witcher. Now, you finally know where he might be. I think Destiny brought me to you tonight. Don’t you?” She takes her leave, but not before touching Geralt’s shoulder as a parting comfort.

Geralt clutches the crest tightly again, and for the first time in three years, in the dingy and stale air of the inn, he finds that he can breathe easy again.

\--

Finding Jaskier was no easy task. The bard was regretfully right when he said that Geralt will never see him again. He had arrived at Zielony three nights after leaving the previous town, hoping to find the bard inside an inn, or at a tavern, singing his songs about love and Geralt. 

But because Fate was a son of a bitch, the villagers had simply told him that Jaskier left the town the night before, leaving nothing but his songs to the people.

Geralt enters The Sinking Shrike, the only tavern in Zielony. He finds nothing, the tavern still empty. He scans the surroundings, looking for any indication, any mark that Jaskier left for him to find. All he saw were the barmaids cleaning up, preparing for the tavern to open later tonight. 

In the corner, a little girl was busy wiping the tables. She was dressed in drab, her blonde hair covered in filth. Geralt would believe her act, except he had noticed from the very beginning how she kept staring at him. Slowly, so as not to scare the girl, he approaches her. 

“Do you have something to tell me?”

The girl doesn’t look up.

“I know Jaskier, the bard, has left the town. I feel that you might know something about him.”

“He left the town last night, s’all I know, mister.” She mumbles softly.

“Did he happen to tell you where he was headed?” Geralt asks.  _ Too young,  _ Geralt thinks.  _ She can’t be older than thirteen. _

The girl just stares at his chest, sizing Geralt up. The girl is probably scared, thinking that he is out to hurt the bard, which is the farthest thing from what he actually wanted to do. She continues to hesitate.

“I’m not going to hurt him, if that’s why you won’t tell me.”

“Then what business do you have with him?”

“What’s your name?”

“Fiona.”

He crouches down and holds her hand, a tender gesture. “Fiona, I did something very wrong a couple of years ago, and I want to apologize to him. Please tell me where he is.”

He finally meets Fiona's eyes and suddenly, a shock jolts through his body. Her green eyes stare at him, his medallion vibrating against his chest.  _Destiny_ ,  he thinks.  _The child_.  Before she could even open her mouth, the door at the back slams open, and a visibly angry man starts yelling at the barmaids. “Get back to fucking work! I don’t fucking pay you to stand around here. Do none of you want food tonight? You,” he points to Fiona, “who the fuck are you talking to, girl? Get back to work.”

Fiona scuttles away, and Geralt’s temper rises before he could control it.

“That girl is barely an adult, bastard. What the fuck are you running here?” He asks the man he presumes owned the tavern.

“A fucking business, Witcher. Now either you go away and wait until we open, or you sit the fuck down and don’t bother the girls.” He spits in Geralt’s face.

Geralt glowers, then, he takes the man’s arm and squeezes as hard as he could.

“I don’t care what the fuck you’re running here, but you tell me about that little girl right now or you and I will be having problems.” He squeezes again, emphasizing his point. The man wails in pain and explains in a rushed voice.

Fiona had come to the tavern a year ago, going from table to table to beg for food. A patron had complained, and he had kicked Fiona out in the cold. His wife had pitied her, and took her in as a servant. In the morning, she cleaned tables. In the night, she served ale. Once the job is done, she was given food and water for bathing. Fiona had come alone, he said. They had not asked questions about where she’s from, he said. They only kept her for the help.

An hour later, Geralt was on Roach, speeding away from the tavern, the man a few coins richer and Fiona, _(_ _Cirilla. Ciri. That’s my real name, Geralt. She had told him before they left)_ safely ensconced behind him.

\--

The fire crackles between Geralt and Ciri. He stares at her, for once thanking Destiny that he’s finally found her, that he’s finally been given the break he has been waiting for. 

More than that, she knows where Jaskier is, and he finally has the chance to find him.

Except, Ciri won’t tell him a damn thing.

They had exchanged stories while eating. Geralt asked her about Cintra. Ciri had asked him about his contracts. He asked her about her escape. She asked him about her mother. After a while, he asked her about Jaskier.

“Why won’t you tell me where he is?”

Ciri sighed. “I was never treated kindly in that place. On good days, I had bread. On the bad days, which were often, all I had were leftover beans on a used bowl. Jaskier came to the town and swept everyone of their feet. He entered the tavern, played a few songs, saw me shivering in a corner after his performance.”

She played with the grass beneath her feet. Geralt held his hand out, and she snuggled closer against him for warmth. “He was kind to me. Gave me whatever spare coin he had for all the nights he was there. He gave me his food when no one was looking. He told me stories while I was cleaning. He was kind when no one else would even look at me twice.”

Geralt smiles softly. Jaskier had always been kind, even when the world was not. He had proven this when he approached him at that Tavern, despite his foreboding presence. He remembers nights where Jaskier would take care of him, giving him baths and then tending to his wounds the best that he could. He had proven this when he had asked Geralt to go with him to the coast. He proves it again, now, by taking care of Ciri the best he could.

"I'll never hurt him, you should know this Ciri."

Ciri turns to look at him accusingly. "But you did. He had told me that he was running away from a Witcher. The White Wolf. He said you hurt him."

"I did not mean to hurt him, Ciri. I said some things im anger that I regretted right after."

"But that's the thing, is it not?" Ciri murmurs, her voice bordering on awake and asleep. "Even when we don't mean it, it still hurts."

Geralt ruminates on it for a moment. He feels Ciri's heavy weight against him.  _Finally asleep,_ he thinks.

"Różowy."

"Hmm?"

"That's where he said he was headed. Said he wanted to take me with him, but he couldn't." Ciri yawns. "That's only a few miles north from here, Geralt."

Geralt smiles and holds her tighter against him. "We leave tomorrow." He whispers.

Ciri sleeps peacefully in his arms. He watches her for a while before he too allows his dreams to take him.

\--

He wakes up the next morning to small hands pressing against his face. 

"Wake up Geralt, we have to go!" Ciri yells excitedly.

For a moment, Geralt feels confused. Slowly, memories of yesterday's events come back to his mind and he allows himself a small smile for Ciri.

Ciri. His child. Right. 

He rises from his cot and makes his way to the remaining embers of the fire. He puts it off, packs their things, and races towards Różowy. It was a village two days away, and he thinks to start early would mean that he arrives there earlier.

However, weather proves to be their enemy, and Roach as well as Ciri needed to rest. Their safety outweighs the fear of letting Jaskier slip away again. Besides, it won't do them well to continue. Roach was beginning to slow down, and the woods were not safe during a storm.

The nearest inn was in a town called Żółty. Luckily enough, the town after it is Różowy, which means that if they leave early tomorrow then they'd get to Jaskier right away. Geralt pays for a room and a bath. He lets Ciri go up to bathe first, helping himself to ale at the inn's bar.

The barkeep eyes him warily before handing him his ale. Geralt scans his enviroment. Ciri might be safe with him, but this is still, after all, a strange land.

He pays the barkeep, finishes his ale, and then walks to their room. He gets there just as Ciri is opening the door, eager to watch the band playing at the bar below.

"Remember, hide your hair. And your name is Fiona."

Ciri just smiles, "I already know this Geralt. Now go, wash up. I'll call if I need you." She then bolts down the stairs, leaving him to stare at her retreating form.

He enters the room and prepares himself for a bath. The set-up is familiar to him, and as he slips into the tub his mind welcomes an unbidden memory.

_"Who knows, maybe someday, someone will want you." Jaskier had said, crouching down and staring at him._

_"I don't need anyone, and the last thing I want is someone needing me."_

"And yet, here we are." He whispers in the quiet of the room, finishing the bard's words for him. His chest tightens at the memory, and once again he aches for Jaskier's presence.

He has long stopped pretending that he didn't miss the bard. He missed Jaskier _immensely._ The hole in his life that the bard left when he did was too great, and Geralt found that no amount of killing monsters and bedding people would be able to cover it. He thinks of Jaskier and he misses him. He thinks of Jaskier and he wishes that he could cry, if only to be able to release the anger he feels. But Jaskier is gone, and no amount of regretting will bring him back. Not unless he finds him and brings him back himself.

_"This is your penance. This is your pain. You sent him away and now you've gotten it. This is your punishment. Suffer it."_

"All I want is one more chance." He says as he stares at the ceiling. "Just give me one moment with him, and I promise I will right whatever wrong I did. I will ask him to come back and stay with me. Undo this curse, and I shall never ask for anything else again."

He sinks further into the tub, his mind a swirl of Jaskier and the scent of lavender.

Perhaps, because of the comfort of the room and the dull lull of the music from below, or because of the warmth of the water surrounding him, Geralt falls asleep in the tub, his head cradled softly by the rim. And, perhaps because of tiredness as well, he does not notice Ciri slipping into the room.

"Geralt, wake up." Ciri shakes him awake. "Hey, Geralt, come on."

Geralt awakes, and for a moment, he thinks he sees Jaskier in the place of Ciri. His eyes, still hazy with sleep, looks at Ciri. His hand reaches forward.

"I'm so sorry, Jaskier, for everything." He says with a wobble in his voice. Ciri begins to panic, thinking Geralt might cry.

"Geralt, it's me, Ciri. Please wake up. Come on."

For a few seconds Ciri and Geralt just stare at each other, Geralt dry heaving until finally the gloss lifts from his eyes and he can finally see Ciri instead of his bard standing in front of him.

"Oh," he says. He slumps against the tub, Ciri's hand running through his hair.

"We'll find him, Geralt. I promise. We'll find him." Ciri says as she takes him in her arms.

Geralt clutches Ciri hard against him, and for the first time in three years he asks life for another blessing, this time to bring him back to Jaskier for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell at me on twitter @renfrls


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He finds a clearing by a river running through the woods. A quick sense of the immediate surroundings proved no danger to Jaskier, and he thinks that no one would be out here at this point of the night. Carefully, he sheds his Jaskier persona. Like all mages who hide their identities, he needs to be able to release his magic, lest he explode into a million fiery little pieces. For that moment, he stops being Jaskier the Bard. For the first time in a few months (he needed to always be careful, he could never do this in an inn), he becomes Julian Alfred Pankratz again. Mage. Powerful. Magical. 
> 
> His fingers thrum with life, and his skin begins to faintly glow with the pent-up magic begging to be released. The wind howls through the trees. The river runs a little quicker. The birds scatter around him, and for a moment he feels the nature’s powers surge through him. Concentrating, he focuses a small blast of energy at his hands. And then----
> 
> Boom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I really got carried away in writing this omfg. First of all, I would like to thank everyone for their support. This has been the most interaction I have gotten in a fic ever, and I am glad that this has made you as happy as it did me.
> 
> The decision to turn this into a five chapter fic came to me as I was writing this chapter. I got carried away with worldbuilding and then suddenly, I had a full story to tell in my hands.
> 
> The next chapter, the fourth, will be dealing with Geralt and Ciri before the final events of this chapter. The final chapter would be the resolution, the angst, and the happy ending everyone is waiting for. Please bear with me >.< !!
> 
> MAJOR KUDOS to the person who figured out that I was using colors for the town names looool. Big brain energy. In my defense I am lazy and unimaginative.
> 
> RE: Title. Regina Spektor is a hidden gem, first of all. Secondly, this is in no way related to Regina Spektor's Samson. I had just liked the phrase and wanted to write a fic that has that as its title. ALTHOUGH there is a part on CH5 that sounds vaguely like it came out from the song. Just wait and see. Another thing is that I am working on a Geralt/Jaskier Samson AU one-shot so wait for that I guess!!
> 
> Disclaimer: This fic deviates a LOT from canon. Constructive criticism is valid, but please remember that I am not knowledgeable at all of the entirety of the Witcher lore. If anything seems too OOC or far from canon just remember that 1.) I may have intended that or 2.) I may honestly just not know anything about the Witcher. I'm still rewatching the show to make sense of it all so brace yourself for random edits to this fic. LASTLY, English is not my first language. Feel free to kindly point out inconsistencies and grammatical errors. Thank you!!

Jaskier no longer remembers exactly how his childhood home looked like.

He faintly remembers the smell of lavender; from the garden his mom grew in their backyard. He thinks of the pies his father used to make, back when he was still a father and not a drunk, and he finds himself sad at the thought of no longer remembering what sort of pie it was and how it had tasted on his tongue. He thinks of home, and he forgets to remember why he ever left.

On nights like these, when the coin was low and the tavern and the inn have no use for a bard, Jaskier sleeps in the woods and makes use of his magic to keep him safe from the elements. He had never done this before, back when he still travelled with Geralt. The thought of the Witcher’s presence was enough to placate him. He had slept good nights with Geralt by his side.

Geralt.

Jaskier’s stops at the thought of the White Wolf. Distantly, he recalls that it has been three years since that fateful day in the mountains. Three years since he had given his blessing and parted ways with the man he had loved.

Jaskier isn’t stupid. He knows the magnitude of his blessing. He might have spoken it softly, his voice warped with hurt and fear, but he knows what happens to blessings given under intense emotions. There’s a reason why bards only sang in parties and gave blessings to babies when buzzed. A happy bard is a good bard. A sad bard is bad. It didn’t help that he was magic either, his powers only intensifying the words he had spoken.

But beyond that, Jaskier knew he can never face Geralt again. He was still angry, rightfully so. He was _not_ the cause of all of Geralt’s misfortune, thank you very much. He knew how annoying he was, knew how much he had bothered Geralt. He _felt it._ But still, he had thought, after a decade of seeing each other, that Geralt would have warmed up to him. Enough to have considered him a friend. At the very least a worthy travel companion; but apparently, he was wrong, and all that time Geralt’s hatred had been brewing underneath him.

Geralt didn’t want him there, and he wasn’t enough of a masochist to even consider staying.

Three years is both long and short to Jaskier. Because he is a mage, his lifespan is way beyond a human’s. So long as he doesn’t mess with Chaos and the order of things, he thinks that he can very well outlive Geralt if he wanted to. But then again, he was also living the life of Jaskier the Bard, and Jaskier the Bard is human. He was no longer Julian Alfred Pankratz. He was no longer a Viscount. He had given it all up the moment he decided to leave home for good.

Living life as a human was weary for Jaskier. At the age of 90, one would think that he’d be used to his longevity. He had seen kingdoms rise and fall, towns getting pillaged and then rebuilt, humans dying from wars they could have prevented, children falling prey to the monsters that prowl in the woods. He knew the fragility of human life; knew full well how short it is.

But that didn’t make it easier for Jaskier. He had always been, what his teachers would call him, _soft. “This will kill you someday, Julian”_ they had told him.

_“You are too soft for a world that is too cruel, Julian.” His mother had whispered to him once, a tender moment they had shared by the fire. He had come home with a wound on his forehead, his cheeks tracked with tears. He had protected his friend, another mage in training like him named Venrys. Except Venrys had also been a halfling, and the kids were cruel and didn’t take too kindly at a halfling studying with them._

_"They called him a monster, mama.” He sniffles, softly picking at the bandage his mother had placed upon his wound. “Venrys isn’t a monster though. S’kind mama. And they hate him because he’s different.”_

_His mother’s heart had broken at the sight of her baby boy. Jaskier was only nine years old then. Too young to know what cruelty is. How far hatred can go._

_“The world will never be kind, Julian, my darling. But you can choose to be kind. You can choose to find the beauty in this world. That’s what you did today, my love. You had shown them what kindness is.”_

_“But you have to be careful, Julian.” She had said. “The world does not take too kindly to those who have tender hearts. Remember this, Julian, and you will never find out what heartbreak is.”_

Julian protected his heart, but Julian died long ago. Jaskier is human. Jaskier loved freely. Jaskier made friends, had lovers, had found new family. And then, when the time came, he watched them all die. After mourning, he’d leave town and change himself again. His identities died along with the people he meets. It was easier that way. Shake off the grief and then don a new mask.

He finds a clearing by a river running through the woods. A quick sense of the immediate surroundings proved no danger to Jaskier, and he thinks that no one would be out here at this point of the night. Carefully, he sheds his Jaskier persona. Like all mages who hide their identities, he needs to be able to release his magic, lest he explode into a million fiery little pieces. For that moment, he stops being Jaskier the Bard. For the first time in a few months (he needed to always be careful, he could never do this in an inn), he becomes Julian Alfred Pankratz again. Mage. Powerful. Magical.

His fingers thrum with life, and his skin begins to faintly glow with the pent-up magic begging to be released. The wind howls through the trees. The river runs a little quicker. The birds scatter around him, and for a moment he feels the nature’s powers surge through him. Concentrating, he focuses a small blast of energy at his hands. And then----

_Boom._

To a bystander, the clearing would look the same. More than that it would look _empty._ No one would see the faint magic glowing by the river. No one would see the smoke from a campfire. No one would see the lonely bard singing softly to himself as he mends the stitches on his trousers.

More often than he wants to admit, his thoughts drift back to Geralt. The Witcher had brought a warmth to Jaskier’s life that he had not expected. Despite his cold exterior and his adamant choice to remain in silence and communicate solely in grunts and glares, Geralt was a good person to be around with. But more than that, he was _kind._ He was something Jaskier was drawn to. Kindness. Geralt had been unexpected. Everyone knew him as the Butcher of Blaviken. The cruel Witcher who had killed defenseless men and the Princess Renfri, who was so young, and had so much more to her. But Jaskier knew the truth; knew what lies beyond the façade of Geralt of Rivia.

Geralt does not accept coin from grieving families. He takes one look at sunken eyes and thin faces and decides to take only a fourth of what a poor community can offer. He tips barmaids more than what he pays for his ale. He never hesitates to save a friend in need, even when the friend is the one at fault for the situation. Even when the friend isn’t really a friend. Even when the person is Jaskier.

So deep into the thoughts of Geralt that Jaskier just barely noticed the rustling in the bushes. He pricks his finger on the needle, drawing blood. He looks around frantically before raising his dagger in defense. No one was supposed to be here. No one was supposed to see him.

_Is my magic failing? Is the spell not good enough?_

“Who’s there?” He speaks nervously. He can defend himself; he knows this. He’s magic, for Destiny’s sake. But he’s never been a fighter, and he fears that the enemy might be stronger than he is if they can see through the barrier he’s put up. “Show yourself.”

If Jaskier is surprised, he doesn’t let it show. What steps from the shadows is neither brute or bandit. Rather, it was a small child. Fear strikes her blue eyes when she sees the dagger in Jaskier’s hands. Knowing that a child poses no harm to him, Jaskier throws the dagger aside, and beckons the child forward.

 _“What is a child doing here?”_ He thinks. _“More than that, this child can see through my barrier.”_

The child moves slowly, then, she passes the barrier. Something in him clicks.

_“Elven blood. The child is magic like me.”_

The girl reaches him, fear still in her eyes. Her gaze darts from Jaskier’s outstretched hand to the fire behind him. She was shivering, and it looked like she was drawn to the warmth from Jaskier’s fire.

“I won’t hurt you. It’s okay. You can come closer to me. I’ll make the fire bigger for you.” He whispered to the child. Slowly, the girl takes his hand. Jaskier leads the little girl to the fire, holding her hands against him before placing them on top of the heat. They sit in complete silence before Jaskier’s curiosity gets the better of him. He asks the girl’s name.

“Lena,” she whispers. He asks her if she’s hungry, to which she merely nods. Jaskier hands her his last bread and his canteen, watching her gobble it up like she hasn’t eaten for days. The sight almost brings tears to his eyes. A child should never be deprived like this.

“Where are you from, Lena?” He asks her when she finishes drinking.

“Dunno. Was travelling before this.” She mumbles.

“Where are your parents? Are you travelling alone?”

He notices the girl’s shoulder stiffen before sobs roll through her body. Jaskier, in a fit of panic, rushes to her side to comfort her. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me. Shhh, shhhh, calm down, Lena.”

“There were bandits. M’mother and Father died. Th-They had told me to run so I did.”

“How long ago was that, Lena?”

“Long time ago.”

“And how old are you now?”

“M’six.”

 _Gods above._ Too young.

Once Lena’s tears had subsided, she looks up to Jaskier with her big blue eyes. His mind flashes back to long ago. To Oxenfurt, and Venrys and his elf ears. To the cruel kids who had decided that Venrys was fair game just because he was different. He thinks, briefly, of the little girl, Fiona, in a town called Zielony. A poor little thing who had clung to Jaskier during his brief stay there. He thinks of her eyes when she left, and how he still prays that she is safe and sound. He can’t leave Lena. He knows this. He can’t leave the little girl alone to fend for herself. Gods know what she will end up as.

Destiny, Jaskier decides, has brought Lena to him, and for the first time in three years he feels hope ignite in his chest.

“You’ll never be alone again, Lena.” He says as he pulls the girl closer. He thinks of his mother and nights by the fire. The love, the warmth, and the goal of finding the beauty in the world. He presses a kiss on the little girl’s hair. He tucks her closer to her.

“I promise you this.”

\--

Time flies quickly for Jaskier. Before he knows it, two years had passed by since he met Lena.

Five years since he had last seen Geralt.

Travelling with a child changed things for Jaskier. Gone were the days where skipping a meal and an inn for the night is okay. He now had Lena to tend to, and he had promised the girl comfort, among others. He had to work, he had to keep a roof over their heads and their stomachs full.

So, he sang. It was the only thing he knew how to do. He had started composing new songs again, either selling it to other bards or singing it in taverns. He had sung of his adventures from a long time ago. More than that, he sung of Geralt. He sang songs of the White Wolf. He started singing that cursed _Toss A Coin to Your Witcher_ again because by Gods, people like it somehow. Liked it still, despite the time that has passed by.

He did everything he had actively avoided in doing just so Geralt won’t be able to trace his presence. He had sung in taverns before, yes, but he had kept a low profile. Wouldn’t tell anyone his name, sung only a few songs, and stayed only for a night or two. The longest he had ever stayed in one place since his and Geralt’s separation was back in Zielony, when he had Fiona to take care of, the little girl who had captured his heart. Even then, he had left her. The risk of him being identified was too great, and Jaskier was not ready for Geralt get wind of his whereabouts.

But now he had Lena, and he thinks five years is enough running away. Besides, he cannot stay on the road forever. Lena needs a stable home, friends, and a place to practice her magic. Lena doesn’t deserve the instability and the fear of having to live outside again. She had enough of that when she was younger.

Thankfully, Lena does not hold it against him. Now eight, she understands her guardian’s situation far better than Jaskier expected. He had sat her down once, told her that he was ready to settle. Lena had merely shrugged and then hugged Jaskier, but not before telling him that she was fine with travelling with him. Lena loved adventures. She loved heroics and stories. Being on the road did not bother her in the slightest, she told Jaskier. Of course, Jaskier was stubborn, and had insisted to Lena that he will find them a home where they can stay for good.

He finishes strumming his guitar, and applause rings through the tavern. He finds Lena’s eyes in the crowd and he throws her a wink. He steps down from the table and then collects his coin.

 _Just a few more performances,_ he thinks, _then we can finally have that house by the coast that I always dreamt of._

He thanks the villagers and then allows the band to take over him. Music once again begins to enter the atmosphere. The owner, a lovely woman named Marta, gestures to the servers and has them bring Jaskier and Lena food and the key to their room at the inn above the tavern. Another difference, happening ever since he had Lena. The patrons and the owners were kinder to him now that they knew he had a child with him. More often than not they were given one free room and a hot meal for his singing. He didn’t like the idea of using Lena, but if it kept her stomach full then he’d swallow his reluctance. If Lena noticed, then she certainly didn’t mind enough to speak on it.

Him and Lena sit in comfortable silence, alternating between eating and sharing jokes. Tomorrow, when they leave, they’d be finding a clearing where Lena can practice her powers. She’s growing stronger every day, and soon, he’d be asking her if she wants to attend an academy for mages like her. But not tonight, no. Tonight is the time for rest.

Staring at Lena and a little bit lost in his thoughts, Jaskier does not notice the silence that has fallen inside, nor does he notice the presence slowly approaching their table. He barely registers the hand reaching out to touch him when suddenly, Lena is rushing past him and pushing him aside.

“What do you want?” Lena asks the intruder harshly. Jaskier looks up, and his blood runs ice cold before his gaze focuses on deep orbs of violet.

“Yennefer.”

\--

Once he has put Lena to sleep with the promise of coming back once he’s done his business with the sorceress, he turns outside and struggles to gets his wits together. Yennefer of Vengerberg. The last time he had seen her, she was storming away from him and Geralt, leaving him to bear the brunt of Geralt’s anger alone. The last time he checked, Yennefer disliked him. The last time he cared to investigate, nobody has seen Yennefer in the past four years.

He takes a deep breath and begins to descend from the stairs, hoping that Yennefer had taken her leave. Alas, when he gets to the table, Yennefer was there in all her glory. The patrons are alternating between looking at her and then at Jaskier, most likely waiting to see if an altercation would happen between the two of them.

He walks towards their table and sits down in front of Yennefer. He wonders what the sorceress was here for. Cyjan was a fairly small village; population of only fifty families and a handful of single men and women who worked the various jobs of the community. Their main source of income was farming, and they have no need for a sorceress. More than that, they had no need for a Witcher, and that’s why Jaskier chose to play here tonight in the first place.

The silence begins to unnerve Jaskier, and he doesn’t do well with silence.

Finally, Yennefer moves to speak. “It’s been a long time, bard.”

Jaskier hums in agreement. “It has been, yes. How are you, Yennefer?”

“Fine. I’ve been looking for you, actually.” Yennefer tells him. “I was surprised that there weren’t any new songs about Geralt of Rivia. No new adventures. No new stories to tell.”

“Well. I don’t really sing about him anymore.” Sweat begins to bead on Jaskier’s temple, and suddenly, the air is too thick for him to breathe properly. “So, tell me. What business does a powerful sorceress have with a lowly bard like me?”

Yennefer laughs, softly, like bells chiming against the wind. She leans into Jaskier, as if whispering a secret. “You and I both know what you really are, bard.”

“And what do you know exactly, Yennefer?”

Yennefer leans back again, picking her nails. “I always wondered why the bard Geralt travelled with never looked like he aged. A decade is a long time, and people change quickly, but you, you never changed did you? Not then, and certainly not now.”

Jaskier swallowed harshly. “And that makes me different because? Plenty of people don’t change. I might just be vain and taking care of my skin.”

Yennefer barks out a laugh. “And what of Geralt never getting scars when it was you who tended to him? Was that part of your vanity regimen, Jaskier? Care to share? What of you and Geralt always conveniently finding a room in a packed inn? Or when the food you served Geralt was always warm? What of them, bard?”

Jaskier knows there was no way out of this. Yennefer was too smart to be fooled, and he knows well enough not to lie to a sorceress. She can easily just pull the truth out of him when push comes to shove, and while he can defend himself from her, he also has Lena to take care of. He can’t endanger her.

“What do you want, Yennefer?”

“A story, bard, and the child.”

At first, Jaskier was confused. Then, the realization dawns on him. Lena. She came for Lena. His blood runs cold as he realizes what Yennefer has found him for. She came to take Lena away from him. She’s taking his _child_ away. She’s—

“Calm down Jaskier!” Yennefer yells. Faintly, he notices the spikes of power against his fingers before Yennefer puts her hand on top of his. “Be careful, please, I do not mean you or the child harm.”

“You can’t take her away from me, Yennefer, or I swear I—.” He struggles past the rock that has begun to form in his throat. “You can’t—you can’t do this to me Yennefer, you can’t take her—”

Yennefer shushes him. “I’m not here to take her away from you, Jaskier. Please calm down. I am merely here to talk about her and you. How did you find her? Did you know that Geralt’s been looking for you all over the land?”

He barely registers the fact that Yennefer had essentially told him that Geralt was combing through the kingdoms to look for him. Instead, his mind holds on to the fact that Lena will remain beside him. That Lena is _safe,_ and no one will ever take Lena from him.

“Why do you want to talk about her?” Jaskier asks when he’s finally calmed down. The patrons have thankfully not noticed his brief outburst, and all are still merrily chatting amongst themselves, oblivious to the emotions boiling inside Jaskier.

“I had a dream." She begins. "About you, and her, and Geralt. There was dancing, and then there was fire, and then blonde hair and then nothing."

Jaskier remained in silence.

"And then there was a voice, urging me to find you." Yennefer stares him in the eye. "Said you were important. I had no choice."

Jaskier sighs. "Well, you might be hallucinating, Yennefer, because I have not seen Geralt in the past five years, and I certainly have no plans of seeing him.”

“And you’ve been doing a good job, I know, because it took me this long to find you.”

Jaskier moves to speak, but she wasn’t done. “But I can’t just ignore this either. This dream was trying to tell me something, and it led me to you.”

“Yennefer.”

“And just think, maybe there’s more to this. Maybe there—”

“Yennefer.”

“—will be something out there that can interpret this for us. Just—”

“Yennefer!” He slams his hand against the table. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

Jaskier laughs. “Why do you think? I’ve gone out of my way to avoid Geralt for five years. You don’t know what happened that day. He had blamed me for all his troubles, and he told me that if life were to give him one blessing it would be to take _me_ out of his hands. I had granted him that blessing, Yennefer. I can’t see him again.” His voice rises in hysterics.

Yennefer frowns, stunned to silence. She had not known exactly what happened that day. She had stormed off, taken a portal and left with all of her things. When she got wind of Geralt, the talk was that he was travelling alone again, and that Jaskier had not been seen since.

“But he’s looking for you. Haven’t you heard? He’s combed the kingdoms trying to locate where you are.”

“And I have taken great pains in being invisible. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a reason why he hasn’t found me yet. I’m good at hiding when I want to be, Yennefer.”

Yennefer sighed. “This isn’t hiding. You’re running away.” She glares at him accusingly.

Jaskier snorts. “And what of it? He certainly didn’t stop me from leaving then. Why would he look for me now? It barely makes sense.”

Yennefer contemplates for a moment, before standing up. “Fine. We won’t see Geralt, if that’s what you want. But I will accompany you and the child on your travels.”

Jaskier merely nods, knowing that he cannot stop Yennefer once she’s set her mind on something.

“If, if this dream means something,” she hesitates. “I want to be there to see it all. And I want,” she swallows roughly, “I want to protect the child. Gods know how children deserve more than some stupid prophecy.”

Jaskier nods in agreement.

“I have a room in this inn, too.” Yennefer says. “I’ll wake you and the child up tomorrow. We leave once the sun has fully risen.”

Jaskier motions for the barmaid. He needs a drink, he thinks. If only to prepare himself for the travel ahead. Three magic wielders on the road together. What chaos could they possibly conjure. It already stirs the beginnings of a headache in Jaskier.

Yennefer moves to leave, but then returns and sits beside him again.

“Just one question, bard.”

“What is it?”

“How come you never told Geralt what you were?” She asks him.

 _Keep it hidden, Jaskier._ His mother’s voice once again rings inside his mind. _Keep your gift to yourself, my child, and you will always be safe._

The barmaid brings ale down their table, eyeing both Yennefer and Jaskier warily. He tosses a coin to her tray and then motions for her to leave. He takes a sip, and then another.

“The person that I was died a long time ago, Yennefer. You say that I am running away from Geralt? Maybe I am, yes, maybe so. But I have always been good at hiding. It’s the only thing that I have ever known.”

Yennefer gives him a sad smile. “Then maybe you and I are more alike than I thought.”

Jaskier hums. “Yes, maybe so.”

Yennefer finally takes her leave, and Jaskier drinks to what will happen tomorrow and the days after that.

Later, when he’s had his fill, he climbs up to the rooms and enters his and Lena’s. He check on her, makes sure that she is still asleep. He takes a look at the dying candles in the room, then, he looks outside. The moon was full.

 _“Meetings that happen under a full moon are never a good sign.”_ He thinks to himself.

He turns his gaze back on Lena.

“I will never let harm come to you,” he whispers. “Not if I can prevent it.”

\--

Travelling with Yennefer was a surprisingly pleasant endeavor. After the initial confusion of why they needed another travelling companion, Yennefer and Lena got along like fire and dry wood. More often than not, the two can be found giggling and whispering. When Lena would fall asleep, it would be Yennefer who’d carry her to the caravan. Because of Yennefer’s wealth, they never had to sleep outside. They’d find expensive inns and stay there, if only to provide Lena with comfort.

More than that, the presence of the sorceress greatly improved Lena’s powers. Jaskier knew his magic was limited. He wasn’t as great as Yennefer. Yennefer was infinitely more powerful than him. Together, they thought Lena whatever they could, and day by day Lena’s powers improved to the point where he was confident that soon, they could leave Lena to fend for herself.

Before they knew it, months had passed since the meeting in the tavern. Frustratingly, they were nowhere close to interpreting Yennefer’s dreams. Throughout their travels, they had consulted other magic wielders. Seers, most of all. But Yennefer’s dream was incomplete. Not only had she woken up too soon, the dream itself was only flashes of symbols and events, not an actual full-length dream that can be interpreted.

Interestingly enough, they had not run into Geralt at all. Yennefer finding him scared Jaskier; if Yennefer can find him then it was only a matter of time until Geralt showed up. But he never did. A small part of Jaskier, the part that purely _loved_ Geralt, was hurt at the fact that maybe Geralt wasn’t looking for him as hard as Yennefer claimed he did. The bigger part of him, the one that still loved the man but can rationalize more clearly, is glad that Geralt has not found him yet. Five years is a long time apart. He doesn’t know what hes capable of doing when Geralt’s finally in front of him. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

And Yennefer had stuck to her promise. She did not press Jaskier to look for Geralt. If she was still actively searching for him, well, she had the decency to not let Jaskier know.

Before they knew it, it’s already Lena’s ninth birthday. Six years since he last saw Geralt.

Jaskier was preparing his and Lena’s breakfast when Yennefer bursts into their room. She was holding a parcel and a letter in her hands. She waves the parcel around in front of Lena’s face.

“Look, Lena, I got you a present.” Yennefer smiles at her. Lena, excitedly, grabs for it, but not before Yennefer raises it above her head. Lena was a small child, and Yennefer often teases her for it. This was no strange picture to Jaskier, and he finds himself looking at them endearingly.

Finally, Yennefer relents and gives Lena her present. She stands beside Jaskier as they look at her, all bouncy and wild-eyed. She tears into the paper-bound gift and gasps when she sees a necklace inside. It was long, and had a gold chain. At the center of it was a small orb that had a preserved flower inside. Upon closer inspection, Jaskier turns an annoyed gaze at Yennefer.

“Very funny, Yennefer.” He glares at her.

Yennefer merely laughs. “What?”

“A dandelion. Really.”

“It’s a very beautiful necklace. Caught my eye while I was walking around the market. I didn’t know it’s a dandelion inside.” She says innocently. “Anyway, come and take a look at this.” She gestures to the letter in her hand.

It was an invitation. From Oxenfurt.

It was to a gathering, a ball of sorts, exclusive only to mages and magic wielders. Yennefer had gotten the invitation, and was allowed three magical guests with her. Jaskier, of course, did not. Julian Alfred Pankratz, after all, was long dead.

“We aren’t going.” He finds himself firmly telling Yennefer. The ball was a fortnight from now.

Yennefer, who looked like she had been expecting his answer, merely shrugged and transferred the letter to his hands. “Just something for you to think about.”

He rolls his eyes and goes back to preparing their meals while Yennefer goes to talk to Lena. He remains uncomfortable all morning.

True enough, Yennefer did not press for him and Lena to come along with her. The days pass by quickly and before they knew it, it was only a mere two days before the ball. If Yennefer’s plan was to plant the seed inside his head and leave him thinking constantly about the ball then her plan worked. He has not stopped thinking about the gathering since.

The idea of going back to Oxenfurt was unappealing to him. In fact, the majority of his life has been spent _running away_ from the place. He has not been back there since he was 25 and standing on top of the ashes of his home. He has not been back since his mother died and his father fucked off to another land. He doesn’t want to be there and be faced with everything he has left behind.

However, the thought of being around mages, sorcerers, and other magic wielders ignited something in him. Travelling all these years isolated Jaskier from the magical community; posing as a human certainly did. But this is a chance to reconnect. He’ll finally be surrounded by people with whom he has no reason to hide from. He’ll be free, even just for that night.

Besides, Lena needed the exposure. Lena needed to be around people like her. People who can do wonderful things with just the blink of an eye. Lena needed to realize and understand fully that there were more people like her, Jaskier, and Yennefer. She needed to know that she wasn’t and will never be alone.

 _Fuck._ He thinks. _She really knows how to get under people’s skin, doesn’t she?_

The night before the ball, Jaskier approaches Yennefer. He takes a deep breath.

“Fine. We’re going.”

Yennefer smiles.

\--

Jaskier was relieved to know that no one in Oxenfurt remembers him. Everything has changed. There were no longer market stalls littering the streets. The houses east of the Academy were no longer there. There’s a new house standing on the spot where his childhood home had burnt to the ground. Everything has changed, and yet, the same.

The old bell tower was still there. He had actively avoided the Vlasily household upon learning that Old Lady Lucja was still alive. He remembers Lucja fondly. When his mother wasn’t home, he would run over to their house where Lucja would feed him biscuits and tea. But that was Julian she was feeding then. He was Jaskier now, and what Lucja knows is that Julian is dead.

The ball was as extravagant as he had expected. Magic users tend to be ostentatious and a little bit over the top. He’s guilty of this.

Okay, maybe not a little bit.

The entirety of Zloto Hall was transformed magnificently. He remembers boring spellcasting lessons he had received here, and he finds himself unable to connect that place to the hall that stands before him now.

Gold hang from every surface of the ceiling, magic making it look like golden rain was falling from above them. Jewels of every kind adorned the seats. The long tables were filled from end to end with golden plates and goblets. They had, most likely, gathered the best musicians from all over the kingdoms, and the band was already playing when they had arrived. Magic wielders can be seen from left to right, all dressed in the most expensive robes and gowns made from the finest silk.

“Do close your mouth, Jaskier, it’s unbecoming of you.” Yennefer murmurs beside him.

The best thing about this gathering is the _masks._ Everybody had been required to wear one. A lot of mages tend to be protective of their identities. Anonymity is their greatest power, and Jaskier knows full well why this is so. People took advantage of magic. That much, he knew.

“Is it really like this for people like us?” Lena whispers beside him, her tiny hand gripping his tightly.

“Not always,” he says, “but this happens from time to time.”

Yennefer leads him and Lena to their table. He recites in his head what exactly they’re here for. They have to introduce Lena to mages her age and also, find a magic wielder who might be able to help them interpret Yennefer’s dream. For Jaskier, he just wants to reconnect and find a semblance of peace again and maybe, finally bury whatever demons he had left on this place for good.

There was another person sitting at their table. He looked like he was whispering, and then immediately straightens at the sight of Yennefer and Jaskier heading towards the table.

“Excuse me, I think you’re in the wrong seat.” Yennefer tells the man. He smiles, his face covered by a mask. His eyes were an unsettling yellow. It reminds him, briefly, of Geralt except this man’s eyes are cold and sharp, like knives.

“Oh, it seems that you are right. My mistakes, madame.” He looks behind Yennefer, his eyes meeting Jaskier’s. Jaskier feels a cold shock through his body, leaving as quickly as it came. He smiles, and then leaves. Jaskier stares after him.

Silence falls in the hall as the band stops playing their music. A man, who he distinctly remembers as Filip the Great from the invitation and the one who organized this ball, stands to welcome everyone. The feast commences.

Jaskier, still uncomfortable with the man from earlier, turns to Yennefer. “Do you know that guy in the mask?”

“They’re all wearing masks, you have to be specific.”

“The one who was sitting on our table.”

“I don’t, actually. Then again, I can’t be so sure. Everyone is wearing a mask.”

Jaskier nods before turning back to Lena to see if she’s okay. He makes a mental note to find the guy later tonight to monitor him. Anyone who can make him that uncomfortable raises red flags and deserved to be observed for the rest of the night.

Filip rises again to order the clearing of the tables in the middle to make way for the dance floor. At that point, him and Yennefer had already talked to a lot of magic wielders, and all had nothing more to offer beyond passing them around in the room. From the corner of his eye, he spots Lena talking with a few girls her age. She waves to him when she sees him staring. He waves back ebfore going back to drinking from his goblet.

The music starts back again, and dancers begin to congregate on the dance floor. He looks on, his mind far away when suddenly, a feeling of dread begins to settle inside of him.

Dancing.

From beside the dancers, elemental mages release bursts of light and tiny flames from their hands, giving the dancers more pomp. The mages cheer and laugh, unaware of the terror brewing inside him.

He turns to Yennefer. Yennefer was already looking at him.

“Dancing, fire.” She says before he could even utter a word.

_“I had a dream. About you, and her, and Geralt. There was dancing, and then there was fire, and then another young girl with blonde hair and then nothing."_

Oh no. Oh no.

He runs towards Lena, dragging her from the conversation she was engaged in. She held mild protests before she noticed the way his hands were shaking.

“Jaskier, what’s wrong?” She asks with fear in her voice. They reach Yennefer and he stops, kneeling in front of her before placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Sweetheart, nothing. Nothing’s really wrong. We just have to go, now.” He says, his eyes meeting Yennefer’s.

Suddenly, the door behind them opens, and a voice he hasn’t heard in years echoes loudly throughout the hall.

“GET OUT OF HERE!” Geralt, in all his glory, says. “THERE IS SOMEONE OUT TO KILL YOU ALL. GET OUT NOW!” The band’s music abruptly cuts off.

Jaskier barely has time to open his mouth to call out Geralt’s name before the podium the band is standing on explodes in a blazing fire.

\--

Chaos erupts in the room as the smell of burning flesh permeates the air. The shock of the explosion rocks him, and he gathers his wits barely enough to grab both Yennefer and Lena and drag them towards the door. His mask was gone, and he knows that Geralt can see him. He puts the thought aside to comfort Lena, who he noticed was crying beside him.

“It’s okay, I’m here. You don’t have to be scared, darling.” Jaskier says. He shares a look with Yennefer before they approach Geralt.

“What is happening?” He asks before Geralt can say another word. His heart starts beating faster than normal once his eyes fall on Geralt’s face. Five years, and his memory absolutely did not do this man’s face any justice. He was still as handsome, as big, and as strong as he remembered, yes, but the details is where he was betrayed. The fine lines on Geralt’s forehead were sharper than ever. His eyes, still yellow, glossed with determination and fury. His hair cascades over his face, framing him, a contrast against the fire reflecting—

Oh, right, the hall is on fire. Now is not the time to wax poetic about Geralt’s facial features.

“Ciri had a dream. Told me to come here to save y-everyone. Said someone was out to kill magic wielders in the kingdoms. We came here as fast as we could.”

“Well, you weren’t quick enough.” Yennefer says sharply as the fire crackles behind them.

“Roach did the best she could to get us here.” Says a voice from beside Geralt. When Jaskier looks to see who had spoken, all the breath leaves his lungs. Faintly, his mind goes back to a little girl from Zielony. Small thing, with her dirty blonde hair and tear-filled eyes, scrubbing the tables and serving food.

“Fiona.” He whispers.

“Jaskier, it’s you.” Fiona’s eyes gloss over. “It’s you.”

Their reunion was short lived when another explosion rings through the room. This time, from the tables where the Elders were sitting. Geralt uses his body to cover them from the dust expelled by the blast before urging them to go outside. Once they’ve left the hall, Geralt closes the door. He takes a deep breath, looking at Jaskier.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice hoarse.

Jaskier swallows roughly. His mind is cloudy with pain and confusion, and he can do nothing but nod. His hand moves towards a cut on Geralt’s cheek before hesitating. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to be that intimate with Geralt anymore. Geralt, sensing his hesitation, takes his hand in his and then presses it against his cheek. He gives Jaskier a soft smile before addressing the scared magic wielders staring blankly at the now fully-burning hall.

“Alright, which one of you has any idea on who wants you all dead?”


End file.
